SOWER: My Cultivation Creates Gods

7 | Judgment Without Mercy

The corridor went on for what felt like forever.

Torches lined the walls. Actual torches. Burning with flames that never flickered or dimmed. The stone beneath their feet was smooth. Too smooth. Like someone had polished it by hand over centuries.

This wasn't a natural formation. Someone had built this place.

*That's not ominous at all.*

The passage opened into a chamber.

Rome stopped breathing.

Gold.

Mountains of it. Coins piled in drifts against the walls. Jewelry scattered across the floor like someone had upended a dragon's hoard. Weapons with gemstone hilts. Armor that gleamed even in the torchlight. Chests overflowing with treasures that sparkled in colors Rome didn't have names for.

And surrounding it all, standing in a perfect circle, twelve statues.

They towered over the room. Twenty feet tall, maybe more. Carved from black stone that seemed to drink the light. Each one depicted a figure in robes, face hidden beneath a deep hood, hands clasped in front of them. They looked ancient. Powerful. Wrong in a way Rome couldn't quite articulate.

"Holy shit." Rodriguez's voice came out as a whisper. "We hit the jackpot."

The tension broke. Hunters rushed forward. Hands grabbed at coins, at jewelry, at anything they could reach. Bags were produced. Pockets were stuffed. Someone was actually crying, tears streaming down his face as he shoved gold pieces into his bookbag.

Rome didn't move.

Something felt off.

*Too easy. This is too easy.*

"Rome."

Kiona appeared at his side. Her arms were crossed. Her eyes moved across the room with the same suspicion he felt.

"You're not grabbing anything."

"Neither are you."

"This doesn't feel right."

"No. It doesn't."

They watched together as the other hunters looted with abandon. Gold vanished into bags. Gems disappeared into pockets. Nobody collapsed. Nobody triggered any traps. Nothing happened.

Minutes passed.

Patterson held up a golden chalice and whooped like he'd won the lottery. Rodriguez was trying to figure out how to carry a diamond-encrusted shield. The newbie kid had tears streaming down his face as he filled his backpack.

Kiona's shoulders relaxed a fraction.

"Maybe I'm being paranoid." She uncrossed her arms. "They're fine. Everyone's fine."

"Yeah." Rome watched a hunter pocket a ruby the size of his fist. "Maybe."

But his feet still wouldn't move toward the treasure.

Instead, they carried him toward one of the statues.

This one was different from the others. Its hands weren't clasped. They were extended. Held out in front of it like an offering. And resting in those stone palms was a tablet. Dark metal. Covered in text.

Latin text.

Rome squinted at the words.

*Okay, brain. Time to justify four years of a dead language.*

His grandfather's voice echoed in his memory. The old man in his study, surrounded by books that smelled like dust and history. Pushing vocabulary cards across the desk. Drilling conjugations until Rome wanted to scream.

"*It's in your blood, boy. Our family has always known the old tongue. You will too.*"

Rome had hated those lessons. Resented them. Couldn't understand why his grandfather cared so much about a language nobody spoke anymore.

But he'd learned. Because the old man was stubborn and Rome was stubborner, and somewhere along the way the grammar had lodged itself in his brain like a splinter he couldn't remove.

"*Aurum... tacet... sed... vigiles... non dormiunt...*" He read the first line aloud. His pronunciation was rough. Rusty. The words felt like stones in his mouth.

Gold... is silent... but... the watchers... do not sleep.

*Okay. Cryptic. Thanks, ancient assholes.*

"*Manus... quae... capiunt... capientur...*"

The hands... that take... will be taken.

*Still not helpful.*

"*Cum... umbra... quintum... gradum... tangit...*"

When... the shadow... touches... the fifth... step?

Rome's eyes moved from the tablet. Scanned the room. Found a pillar near the wall with markings carved into it. Roman numerals. I through XII. A shadow fell across it from one of the torches, the edge resting between the fourth and fifth mark.

*A sundial. It's a countdown.*

His throat tightened.

"*...oculi... aperientur... et... iudicium... sine... misericordia.*"

...eyes... will open... and... judgment... without... mercy.

"Rome?" Kiona had followed him. She stood at his shoulder, looking at the tablet with confusion. "What does it say?"

Rome stared at the words. Read them again. His grandfather's voice echoed in his skull, correcting his grammar, pushing him to find the meaning beneath the meaning.

*Gold is silent but the watchers don't sleep.*

*The hands that take will be taken.*

*When the shadow touches the fifth step, eyes will open.*

He looked at the pillar. The shadow crept closer to the V.

*Judgment without mercy.*

Rome turned around.

The hunters were still looting. Still laughing. Still celebrating their windfall with no idea what was about to happen.

He turned more.

The doorway. The massive stone arch they'd walked through to enter this chamber. The one that had been wide open, welcoming them into paradise.

It was almost fully shut.